Rilla of Ingleside

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  BLACK SUNDAY

  In March of the year of grace 1918 there was one week into which musthave crowded more of searing human agony than any seven days had everheld before in the history of the world. And in that week there was oneday when all humanity seemed nailed to the cross; on that day the wholeplanet must have been agroan with universal convulsion; everywhere thehearts of men were failing them for fear.

  It dawned calmly and coldly and greyly at Ingleside. Mrs. Blythe andRilla and Miss Oliver made ready for church in a suspense tempered byhope and confidence. The doctor was away, having been summoned duringthe wee sma's to the Marwood household in Upper Glen, where a littlewar-bride was fighting gallantly on her own battleground to give life,not death, to the world. Susan announced that she meant to stay homethat morning--a rare decision for Susan.

  "But I would rather not go to church this morning, Mrs. Dr. dear," sheexplained. "If Whiskers-on-the-moon were there and I saw him lookingholy and pleased, as he always looks when he thinks the Huns arewinning, I fear I would lose my patience and my sense of decorum andhurl a Bible or hymn-book at him, thereby disgracing myself and thesacred edifice. No, Mrs. Dr. dear, I shall stay home from church tillthe tide turns and pray hard here."

  "I think I might as well stay home, too, for all the good church willdo me today," Miss Oliver said to Rilla, as they walked down thehard-frozen red road to the church. "I can think of nothing but thequestion, 'Does the line still hold?'"

  "Next Sunday will be Easter," said Rilla. "Will it herald death or lifeto our cause?"

  Mr. Meredith preached that morning from the text, "He that endureth tothe end shall be saved," and hope and confidence rang through hisinspiring sentences. Rilla, looking up at the memorial tablet on thewall above their pew, "sacred to the memory of Walter Cuthbert Blythe,"felt herself lifted out of her dread and filled anew with courage.Walter could not have laid down his life for naught. His had been thegift of prophetic vision and he had foreseen victory. She would clingto that belief--the line would hold.

  In this renewed mood she walked home from church almost gaily. Theothers, too, were hopeful, and all went smiling into Ingleside. Therewas no one in the living-room, save Jims, who had fallen asleep on thesofa, and Doc, who sat "hushed in grim repose" on the hearth-rug,looking very Hydeish indeed. No one was in the dining-room either--and,stranger still, no dinner was on the table, which was not even set.Where was Susan?

  "Can she have taken ill?" exclaimed Mrs. Blythe anxiously. "I thoughtit strange that she did not want to go to church this morning."

  The kitchen door opened and Susan appeared on the threshold with such aghastly face that Mrs. Blythe cried out in sudden panic.

  "Susan, what is it?"

  "The British line is broken and the German shells are falling onParis," said Susan dully.

  The three women stared at each other, stricken.

  "It's not true--it's not," gasped Rilla.

  "The thing would be--ridiculous," said Gertrude Oliver--and then shelaughed horribly.

  "Susan, who told you this--when did the news come?" asked Mrs. Blythe.

  "I got it over the long-distance phone from Charlottetown half an hourago," said Susan. "The news came to town late last night. It was Dr.Holland phoned it out and he said it was only too true. Since then Ihave done nothing, Mrs. Dr. dear. I am very sorry dinner is not ready.It is the first time I have been so remiss. If you will be patient Iwill soon have something for you to eat. But I am afraid I let thepotatoes burn."

  "Dinner! Nobody wants any dinner, Susan," said Mrs. Blythe wildly. "Oh,this thing is unbelievable--it must be a nightmare."

  "Paris is lost--France is lost--the war is lost," gasped Rilla, amidthe utter ruins of hope and confidence and belief.

  "Oh God--Oh God," moaned Gertrude Oliver, walking about the room andwringing her hands, "Oh--God!"

  Nothing else--no other words--nothing but that age old plea--the old,old cry of supreme agony and appeal, from the human heart whose everyhuman staff has failed it.

  "Is God dead?" asked a startled little voice from the doorway of theliving-room. Jims stood there, flushed from sleep, his big brown eyesfilled with dread, "Oh Willa--oh, Willa, is God dead?"

  Miss Oliver stopped walking and exclaiming, and stared at Jims, inwhose eyes tears of fright were beginning to gather. Rilla ran to hiscomforting, while Susan bounded up from the chair upon which she haddropped.

  "No," she said briskly, with a sudden return of her real self. "No, Godisn't dead--nor Lloyd George either. We were forgetting that, Mrs. Dr.dear. Don't cry, little Kitchener. Bad as things are, they might beworse. The British line may be broken but the British navy is not. Letus tie to that. I will take a brace and get up a bite to eat, forstrength we must have."

  They made a pretence of eating Susan's "bite," but it was only apretence. Nobody at Ingleside ever forgot that black afternoon.Gertrude Oliver walked the floor--they all walked the floor; exceptSusan, who got out her grey war sock.

  "Mrs. Dr. dear, I must knit on Sunday at last. I have never dreamed ofdoing it before for, say what might be said, I have considered it was aviolation of the third commandment. But whether it is or whether it isnot I must knit today or I shall go mad."

  "Knit if you can, Susan," said Mrs. Blythe restlessly. "I would knit ifI could--but I cannot--I cannot."

  "If we could only get fuller information," moaned Rilla. "There mightbe something to encourage us--if we knew all."

  "We know that the Germans are shelling Paris," said Miss Oliverbitterly. "In that case they must have smashed through everywhere andbe at the very gates. No, we have lost--let us face the fact as otherpeoples in the past have had to face it. Other nations, with right ontheir side, have given their best and bravest--and gone down to defeatin spite of it. Ours is 'but one more To baffled millions who have gonebefore.'"

  "I won't give up like that," cried Rilla, her pale face suddenlyflushing. "I won't despair. We are not conquered--no, if Germanyoverruns all France we are not conquered. I am ashamed of myself forthis hour of despair. You won't see me slump again like that, I'm goingto ring up town at once and ask for particulars."

  But town could not be got. The long-distance operator there wassubmerged by similar calls from every part of the distracted country.Rilla finally gave up and slipped away to Rainbow Valley. There sheknelt down on the withered grey grasses in the little nook where sheand Walter had had their last talk together, with her head bowedagainst the mossy trunk of a fallen tree. The sun had broken throughthe black clouds and drenched the valley with a pale golden splendour.The bells on the Tree Lovers twinkled elfinly and fitfully in the gustyMarch wind.

  "Oh God, give me strength," Rilla whispered. "Just strength--andcourage." Then like a child she clasped her hands together and said, assimply as Jims could have done, "Please send us better news tomorrow."

  She knelt there a long time, and when she went back to Ingleside shewas calm and resolute. The doctor had arrived home, tired buttriumphant, little Douglas Haig Marwood having made a safe landing onthe shores of time. Gertrude was still pacing restlessly but Mrs.Blythe and Susan had reacted from the shock, and Susan was alreadyplanning a new line of defence for the channel ports.

  "As long as we can hold them," she declared, "the situation is saved.Paris has really no military significance."

  "Don't," said Gertrude sharply, as if Susan had run something into her.She thought the old worn phrase 'no military significance' nothingshort of ghastly mockery under the circumstances, and more terrible toendure than the voice of despair would have been.

  "I heard up at Marwood's of the line being broken," said the doctor,"but this story of the Germans shelling Paris seems to be ratherincredible. Even if they broke through they were fifty miles from Parisat the nearest point and how could they get their artillery closeenough to shell it in so short a time? Depend upon it, girls, that partof the message can't be true. I'm going to try to try a long-distancecall to town myself."

/>   The doctor was no more successful than Rilla had been, but his point ofview cheered them all a little, and helped them through the evening.And at nine o'clock a long-distance message came through at last, thathelped them through the night.

  "The line broke only in one place, before St. Quentin," said thedoctor, as he hung up the receiver, "and the British troops areretreating in good order. That's not so bad. As for the shells that arefalling on Paris, they are coming from a distance of seventymiles--from some amazing long-range gun the Germans have invented andsprung with the opening offensive. That is all the news to date, andDr. Holland says it is reliable."

  "It would have been dreadful news yesterday," said Gertrude, "butcompared to what we heard this morning it is almost like good news. Butstill," she added, trying to smile, "I am afraid I will not sleep muchtonight."

  "There is one thing to be thankful for at any rate, Miss Oliver, dear,"said Susan, "and that is that Cousin Sophia did not come in today. Ireally could not have endured her on top of all the rest."